You're Going to Lose That Boy
by Little Miss Beatlemaniac
Summary: George Harrison is a young boy in love with another man. Unfortunately, this man is taken. How will things play out for him? Ringo Starr is not your average queer. Behind his eyes, there is a hidden message he refuses to let anybody see. But what is it, exactly? (Warning: mentions of abuse though not too graphic. Also, contains Rory/Ringo and George/Ringo.)
1. The Handsome Drummer

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. They all basically own themselves.**

(George P.O.V.)

Hamburg, Germany. August 14, 1962. 11:30 PM UTC. The pitch-black sky brought rain and humidity with it along with the mighty nasty northern wind. Street lamps were lit like candles and fancy cars were parked outside different buildings: caverns, clubs, the lot. I could feel the comb running through my hair, hear the roars of laughter and monsoons of applause, taste the perspiration that ran from my forehead. I could remember that night as if it were yesterday. It was an extraordinary night. It was a night to remember. It was the night I met _him_.

The Cavern Club was busy that night, it's neon sign blaring for all to see outside. John, Paul, and Stu were tuning their guitars or basses, and Pete was setting up the drums, leaving me alone. I was not quite twenty-one yet, and so I slouched out of sight like a loner at the bar, my Gretsch guitar at my side. Hopefully, I would not attract the attention of a man looking for a bar-fight. After all, I had the reputation for being the "quiet Beatle" and wished to live up to it. All of a sudden, I was snapped out of my thoughts when I heard a man announcing in both English and German,

"Ladies and gentlemen, without any further hesitations, I give you our next act of the night! Give it up for Rory Storm and the Hurricanes!" The crowd, including me, clapped. The curtains opened, revealing a man with blond hair, brown eyes, and a blue suit. He had a good voice and was rather tall for his age, but I wasn't focusing upon him. I found my eyes drifting over to the drummer of the group, the sole beat of the band. My jaw dropped immediately.

He had chocolate brown hair with a grey streak in it styled in a teddy-boy quiff, twin cobalt lakes of eyes that one could drown in by gazing upon, a dopey but handsome nose, a sad smile formed with his plump pouty lips, and shiny rings on his fingers. He was rather short for his age, it seemed, but it did not matter. I also could not help but notice that he was wearing a pink suit and that he looked rather...fit. The amount of gorgeousness radiating from that man made me question my old sexuality. Had I continued to like girls, I would never have known what true beauty was.

A few years ago, I had been dating a nice bird named Katherine. That was before Bob Dylan came into my life. Yes, I developed a bit of a crush on him, but I didn't know what it was at the time. All I knew was that he was an amazing man and his music was quite inspiring. When I found out that I _was_ attracted to him, however, I was forced to come out to my parents, my friends, and my girlfriend. Oddly enough, they were all fine with it, but they warned me to be careful in England because of its "zero tolerance of queers" policy. Eventually my crush receded, but my homosexuality was still a part of me. Never again would I pay any heed to a bird, let alone her chest.

Nobody else paid any attention to the drummer, and I felt slightly irritated by their ignorance. If it weren't for the drummer, the band would be nothing. For a minute, I wondered if our band was nothing because of how extremely untalented Pete was. He could not drum for his life, it seemed. I often thought bitterly that he should have become a teacher, not a drummer. Pete. Ugh. Even when I tried, I could not stop the bile from crawling up my throat at the mention of his name. Not only was he a terrible drummer, he was also terrible-looking and he had a terrible personality on top of it all. I hated his arrogance and how he often pretended to be sick come band practice. I didn't care if he and John were pals: I wanted him _out_.

My Pete-bashing thoughts were quelled when the man that announced the previous band's arrival said that it was "Starr Time".

" 'Starr Time'? Now, what in blazes is _that_?" I wondered out loud to myself. Just then, I saw that drummer from Rory Storm's band walk up front. He had a shy smile on his face and I could see that he was hesitant to be the center of attention. His face looked crimson under the large overhead light which was cute, I might add.

"Um...hi," he greeted a little nervously. Hi. That was the only word he had to say to send a shiver down my spine, to make electricity course through my veins, to reduce me to nothing but a melted heart-shaped puddle. _HI_. Bloody hell: his voice was drop-dead sexy. That wasn't even the _best_ part, though. It was when I figured out that "Starr Time" consisted of that drummer singing "Boys" by the Shirelles. I laughed out loud, but not out of mockery. I laughed because that man was so _talented_!

"I been told when a boy kiss a girl,

Take a trip around the world,

Hey, hey! Hey, hey! Hey, hey!

Yeah, she says you do!"

"No freaking way! Oh my God!" I exclaimed, though nobody heard me. His baritone was incredible. I wished he could sing all night.

"My girl says when I kiss her lips,

Gets a thrill through her fingertips,

Hey, hey! Hey, hey! Hey, hey!

Yeah, she says you do!"

I knew that was just a song lyric, but I could not help but wonder if this man had a girlfriend. After all, I figured, who WOULDN'T want that attractive man for themselves?

"Well, I talk about boys!

Don't you know I mean boys!

Well, I talk about boys, now!

Ahhhh, boys!

Well, I talk about boys, now!

What a bundle of joy!"

Unfortunately, the song ended and that was the end of "Starr Time", as well as Rory Storm and the Hurricanes's gig. Everybody seemed disappointed, but they cheered up when the next band played. Meanwhile, I looked around to see if I could find that drummer and silently check him out for the rest of the evening. A hand clapped on my shoulder from behind me, causing me to jump.

"Whoops! Sorry, son! I didn't mean to scare ye," a voice chuckled. I frowned.

"I wasn't scared, mister," I declared stubbornly on behalf of my manly pride. When I turned around and saw who it was, however, every other word I had been planning to say left my mouth and escaped from my memory. It was that drummer! "Gosh, sir! I do apologize! Won't you sit down?" I blubbered, my face growing pink all the way to my ears.

The man chuckled. "Well, of course!" He sat down beside me and ordered a drink since he was obviously over the age of twenty-one. He noticed my tensed and nervous body language. "Hey, relax, man! It's okay, I don't bite! ...Not unless you're a sandwich!" he joked, trying to break the ice.

"Heh, heh, heh, heh, yeah," I chuckled sheepishly. I could feel my conscience beginning to lecture me. It said, "George, you're a bloody idiot!" The man eyed me with what seemed to be concern.

"Are you sure? Hey, I can give the best massages in all of Liverpool," he said. My eyes widened in astonishment. He was from Liverpool too?

"N-no thank you, I'm good," I managed to choke out. The man chuckled once again.

"You're a mighty fine lad. What's your name, son?"

"I'm George. You?"

"I'm Ringo. Pleasure to meet you, George." He shook my hand and I reveled in its touch.

"Thanks. Uh...you too!"

Once I got past my "Idiot Phase", I was able to have an actual conversation with Ringo. I found out that we had lots in common and that his life story was very interesting. Whenever he told a joke or said anything even remotely funny, I would giggle in a rather feminine way before catching myself and stopping. I felt like I could spend the rest of my life talking to Ringo, but then it was time for the band I was in to play. I was just about to go onstage when I saw that blond-haired man from earlier walking up to us.

"H-H-Hi, R-Ritchie," he stammered.

"Hiya, handsome!" Ringo teased. Much to my bewilderment, they kissed. Ringo turned to me. "Ah, George, I almost forgot! This is my boyfriend, Rory. Ro, this is my new friend George." Rory looked at me, a fake smile on his face that failed to conceal the dislike in his icy brown orbs.

"P-P-P-Pleasure," he spat, as if the very sight of me made him want to dry-heave that one word.

"Likewise," I replied, adopting that exact same tone with which he spoke. Something told me already that I did _not_ like this guy and that his behavior was of utter suspicion to me. We stared into each other's souls, casting threatening bolts of lightning with our eyes and momentarily forgetting that a _very_ uncomfortable Ringo was sweating and scratching his head.

"H-Hey, w-w-wanker! D-Don't y-y-you h-h-h-have a-a b-b-band t-to p-p-p-play f-f-for?! O-Or a-a-are y-you j-j-just a-an a-a-a-amateur?!" Rory whispered so that only we could hear. I narrowed my eyes at him, my face flustered red with rage.

"Call me an amateur, will you?! You dirty gormless git!" I stomped off to the stage where John, Paul, Stu, and Pete were. By golly, I would show _him_!


	2. The Fanged Sweetheart

A/N: I just wanted to thank whoever e-mailed me and told me this story was good, because I nearly lost interest and stopped working on it. But now that I am back with some fresh new ideas, I shall continue. Thank you very much for your support! This chapter was slightly inspired by "Girl" by the Beatles. Also, I found out that Stu died of brain hemorrhage in April that year too late, so he's just gonna disappear, 'kay?

**Disclaimer: I pretty much said it for the whole book already in the beginning chapter, so let's not and say we did. ;-)**

( Ringo P.O.V.)

I didn't know why George seemed so intense all of a sudden after Rory showed up. It was like there was a ram rod stuck up his arse or something. Had a fight been ensued, I never would have forgiven meself. Rory was the jealous type, you know. He could get very angry sometimes; he was often the scariest when he was drunk. But when he wasn't jealous, angry, drunk, or all of the above, he was a very sweet and caring partner.

I never told an authority figure or my friends about the things he did to me and I often had to hide it because I still loved him. Besides, if I left him, nobody else would love me the way he did and I wouldn't have money or a home. I would get kicked out of his band and the poor baby would die without me. At least, that's what he told me. I believed him, too. He promised the whole earth to me, cried, and told me he would never let it happen again. So every time it happened, I just assumed that he was trying to make progress.

However, I couldn't seem to get young George off me mind. He had far more in common with me than Rory did and he had a rather enthralling aura about him. I guess you could say I was interested in him from an intellectual perspective. He was very spiritual and often mentioned the different cultures and traditions he had become engrossed in. For a young nineteen-year-old lad who looked a bit like a monkey by physical appearance, he was very insightful and gentle.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I now give you the next act of the night! Put your hands together for The Beatles!" the announcer blared in English and German. There were four boys on the stage when the curtains opened. George told me about all of those people. There was Pete, the so-called mediocre drummer, Paul, the slightly baby-faced lad, John, the tough-looking leader, and of course, George, me new mate. John had a toilet seat hanging around his neck and he was wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Brian Epstein, the Beatles's manager, was face-palming himself humiliatedly.

" 'Ey, look who has the best seat in the house, eh?" John joked. The audience (including me)laughed and clapped, much to Brian's relief, though he practically begged the camera men not to take any pictures for the public eye. Then, Paul stepped up to the microphone whilst fluttering his big droopy eyes and announced,

"Alright, everybody! This first number is an original song written by John and I, called, 'I Saw Her Standing There' !" The crowd cheered once more before Paul shouted, "One, two, three, four!" The band began to play and everybody got lost in the moment. That is, everybody but me. I noticed that Pete's drumming skills were not quite as proficient as they were supposed to be. Well, they weren't quite right, per se. ...Okay, fine, he sucked.

Not only was he a minger to look at, he was at least two beats behind where there were supposed to be beats, and he was playing "Fours"!_ "Fours!" _A kick drum note on a quarter note should have been non-legalized a long time ago! And when he moved to the middle eight on the ride cymbals, he slowed down! _Slowed down! _I apologize, but that was _not_ something an OCD drummer like me wanted to hear! And all of the girls liked _him_?! I could have criticized his playing for the whole rest of the night, but I drew an irritated breath and moved on. John and Paul were much better, with their phenomenal singing and their skilled electric/semi-acoustic guitar and bass-playing. I admired each of their instruments: a Rickenbacker guitar and a Höfner bass. The only good thing about Pete was his Ludwig drum kit, but that man abused its power!

Finally, I took a look at George. Me eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at the sight. He was on his Gretsch guitar and playing chords, his fingers flying like mad and his face stained with sweat. He had a solemn look on his face that made him look even more mysterious to me. I admired everything about him, from his dark brown hair to his small button nose, from his thick dark eyebrows to his fanged toothy smile, and from his sunken cheeks to his slightly stuck-out ears. But most of all, I admired his eyes.

Whenever he made eye contact with me, I felt as if I were staring into oblivion. Most lads would have thought this sounded poofy, but it was as if the universe had taken the two brightest stars and converted them into George's eyes when he was born. His brown eyes were always shining, which meant that he was always thinking about something. They were like a cross between John and Paul's eyes because they were large, long-eyelashed, and almond-shaped. I felt as if I could write a poem describing his eyes: cocoa, delicate, lustrous, elegant, mystique...

Oh dear. I was doing it again. I was thinking about another man. Rory had made it a sin for me to do so, and therefore didn't allow me to have any guy friends. I realized that on top of his piss-drunkenness, he would do that thing to me again because I had broken one of his rules. I loved him, but sometimes when we talked it was like I was walking on egg shells. I remembered one night when I was talking to one of me friends in the living room before Rory stormed in, drunk and enraged. Me pal went home and the next thing I knew, I was being thrown against the wall and punched in the eye.

"N-N-No! I-I'm t-the o-o-only o-one y-y-y-you c-can t-t-talk t-to!" he shouted, during that jealous fit of his. I breathed heavily and tears flowed down my face. Rory realized what he had done and cried, feeling guilty. I could barely see him: my eyes were flooded with water and I shook violently on the ground. The next day he was sweet and caring again, but he made me call that man and tell him that I wasn't interested in being his friend anymore. He did the same with all of my other friends until all I had for company was him.

I refused to do the same thing to George this time around, however. He wasn't like any of me old friends in the past. He was different from all of them, which I liked. The very thought of my punishment once I got home was filled my mind with dread and apprehension, but no matter how much it hurt I had to stay strong. After all, sometimes I wanted a break from flowers and kissing so that I could flirt with a guy a little and talk about music and dreams.

The song ended and John Lennon sang a song called "Twist and Shout". I liked that song and began standing up, clapping with the beat with my rings rattling. Rory sat down the whole time, not really getting too into it. I didn't know why: those guys were bloody brilliant! Everybody applauded at the end of the song and John stepped up to the microphone.

"By the way, I'd like to thank that eager young man with the jewelry who was dancing his arse off the whole time," he said, pointing at me. Everybody laughed, including me. George's mates seemed like cool blokes that I could meet sometime. George whispered something in John's ear while pointing at me and I observed curiously. Perhaps he was telling him about some new bloke called Ringo he met at the bar. Whatever it was, John was grinning devilishly and George was a little flushed. John whispered to Paul, who grinned as well. George waved at me like an eager young school boy, and I waved back whilst chuckling. I could feel me boyfriend's eyes burning holes into me back already.

"Our last song this evening will be a cover of Chuck Berry's song 'Roll Over Beethoven,' which will be sung by our one and only George Harrison!" the announcer declared. I clapped eagerly. First, his amazing guitar skills, and now I got to hear him _sing_? How _exciting_! Rory got up from his seat at the bar and called out,

"T-That ch-ch-chav c-can't s-s-s-sing! H-H-He sh-should g-g-g-go b-b-back t-to h-h-his m-mummy!" Some people began to laugh, but I was not among those people. My dear Rory was heckling me friend and I didn't like it one bit.

"Hey! Rory, knock it off!" I lectured. Rory looked at me, still smiling.

" W-W-_What_? Oh, R-Ritchie, I-I-I w-was j-j-j-just j-j-joshing!" I looked at him incredulously and turned to see George, who was frowning determinedly. Then he began to sing. I almost melted. His voice was so beautiful, as if he were an angel on a rock guitar. I was hesitant to admit it at first, but his voice was actually better than _Rory's_.

"Well gonna write a little letter,

Gonna mail it to my local D.J.!

It's a rockin' little record

I want my jockey to play!

Roll over Beethoven,

I gotta hear it again today!"

I danced joyfully to the music and George directed his attention to me as if he were singing this song to me personally.

"You know my temperature's risin',

And the jukebox's blowin' a fuse!

My hearts beatin' rhythm,

And my soul keeps singing the blues!

Roll over Beethoven,

And tell Tchaikovsky the news!"

George leaned over, took me hand, and led me onto the stage so that I could dance up there with him. I hopped up and down like an idiot, and he hopped up and down with me, flipping his hair, playing guitar, and singing all at once.

"Well if you feel you like it,

Well grab your lover and reel and rock it!

Roll it over and move on up,

Just jump around and reel and rock it!

Roll it over,

Roll over Beethoven,

A rockin' in two by two, oh!"

Once the song ended, we both laughed, just enjoying each other's company. He looked like he had fun while performing that night, which I, meself, believed very strongly in. I had missed having friends; I'd almost forgotten what that felt like. Then I knew: it felt like this. Just then, George's smile disappeared from his face and he looked cold and distant again. I was about to ask if I had done something wrong, but then I turned and saw that Rory was drunk again. He snuck up behind me and whispered,

"Y-You n-n-naughty d-d-d-duffer! I-I-I'm g-gonna h-h-have t-to p-p-punish y-you!" He tried to take me shirt off, but I stopped him. I was about to walk home when he spanked me. I felt embarrassed because he was harrassing me in public, as well as in front of me pal. George's eyes became overcast with anger. He did not abide by what had just happened.


	3. The Drunken Bastard

A/N: So, I'm still in the process of figuring things out. By reading other peoples's fan fiction, I can learn how to structure my stories properly (author's notes, disclaimer, etc.). This chapter will probably have some violence in it, so be warned.

(George P.O.V.)

Earlier that evening, I was having a grand old time. I played my guitar, sang, and showed that no-good Rory that I wasn't any old amateur. I was just a musician who played for the fun of it. I could see that Ringo was having a good time too. I pointed him out to John earlier, whispering,

"That's the guy I like." John took one look before grinning.

"Aw, our widdle Georgie-Weorgie's in love! I oughta tell Paulie!" He whispered the information into Paul's ear and he grinned too. **They're ones to talk, considering they're ****_equally_**** queer for each other,** I thought. It was true. I could see the way they looked at each other, with John acting like an egotistical bad-arse and Paul fluttering his eyelashes and giggling flirtatiously. Anybody could say that they were queer for each other; I just happened to know the fact for sure.

I waved at Ringo and he waved back. Rory didn't look too happy about it, but I ignored him. Later, I invited Ringo onstage and danced with him. I liked his style of dancing. It was very individualized and cute, which only increased my desire to make him mine. His eyes were even bluer up close. It was like they were the ocean and I was a lovesick man lost at sea. The song ended and we laughed before smiling and enjoying the comfortable silence. When I looked up for a minute, I saw _him_ again: that awful bugger, Rory Storm.

He looked over Ringo's shoulder, wrapped his arms around his neck from behind, and whispered something into his ear. Ringo's pupils became slits, as if he were a human snake, and the color drained from his face. Rory tried to take his shirt off, but Ringo frowned and began to storm away. I tried to restrain myself from doing anything stupid, but when Rory spanked him, he bloody crossed the line.

My eyes twitched in their sockets and my mouth became a tight furious line. My fists curled inward and my whole body shook with rage. I felt as if I could hit that man. Now, don't get me wrong. There were cases when I fought somebody with my bare fists, but these cases were extremely rare, as I did not often go looking for trouble. I was a lover, not a fighter. However, if you did just enough to push me off the edge, then if I were you I would watch the bloody hell _out_. I stalked over to where Rory and Ringo were standing.

"Oi! That was _rude_! Don't do that!" I reproached, not bothering to hide my irritation. Rory laughed scornfully in my face as if I were a daft little girl who didn't know jack. Ringo watched with widened eyes.

"W-W-_What_? T-_This_?" he sneered, before grabbing Ringo, grinding against his body, and squeezing his arse. Ringo shrieked in horror, not comfortable with the sudden inappropriate contact.

At that moment, I was beyond enraged. My eyes bulged, my nostrils flared, smoke blasted out of my ears, and my blood pressure seethed until my whole face was scarlet. My mouth opened enough to show my entire set of teeth, my fists and body shook enough to get higher than a nine on the Richter Scale, and I snarled threateningly. On top of the fact that veins were popping out on my head on neck, I became this unrecognizable beast that frightened even _me_. That sod was in for a surprise.

"Stop it! Can't you see it bothers him?! Leave him alone! Sod the bloody hell off!" I screeched, attracting the attention of nearly everybody there. Rory looked at me with an expression of contempt. He walked towards me, his mean brown eyes converting into killer icebergs.

"Y-You're a ch-ch-cheeky l-little b-b-b-bugger, a-a-_aren't_ y-you?" he inquired in a mockingly sweet tone that made me want to gag. Why was he treating me like a little boy?! Didn't he know how invasive he was acting?! What was a beautiful innocent angel like Ringo doing with an ignorant manipulative slug like Rory, anyways?! My voice volume increased as I yelled.

"I'm warning you! You're going to lose that boy if you don't treat him with more respect! You can't just objectify him for your own use! He's a human being, not a play-thingie! And to prove it, I'll take him away from you, your madness, and your stupid speech impediment!"

POW! Rory's fist went sailing into my left eye and I stumbled backwards before falling. I tried getting up, but he kneed me in the stomach. I attempted to fight back, throwing punches but missing. He straddled my hips so that I could not get up and pummeled me repeatedly. I cried out somewhere, _anywhere_, for help. Finally, a very tear-stricken Ringo rushed over to where we were and pulled Rory off of me. He lectured him while he kept trying to get at me.

"Rory! Rory, stop trying to hurt me friend! I love you, but this is getting ridiculous! Come on love, why can't we just keep the peace and...ALAN CALDWELL!" Rory stopped moving immediately at the sound of his real name. Then he fainted out of exhaustion and drunkenness. Ringo sprinted over to where I lay and helped me up.

"George! Oh, George, I'm _so_ sorry! I never meant for this to happen! Are you okay, mate?!" At the sound of his voice, I calmed down and became George again, not some demonic monster nobody could identify.

"I'm fine, mate," I told him, smiling. He helped me to walk (or in my case, stumble,) to the nearest washroom. Then he told me to sit on the toilet lid while he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket, turned on the water faucet, and got it damp. He walked over to me and began to dab my face with the wet hankie.

"There, now, doesn't that feel much better?" he asked. I nodded in reply. For a while, silence settled between us as he proceeded to clean my cuts gingerly. He made sure to be extra careful in the left eye area. It was swollen almost shut and turned an ugly shade of mauve. Then, I broke the silence.

"Is he always like that?"

"Hm?" Ringo perked up from what he was doing, his concentration broken for the moment. God, he was adorable.

"Rory. Does he always get drunk and treat you that way?" I asked. Ringo laughed.

"What? Ha, ha, ha, _no_! Why would you think _that_?" he said almost too quickly. I pursed my lips and stared into his soul, not quite believing him. However, I decided not to corner him about it since it probably wasn't anything he wanted to talk about. He changed the subject before I could. "It was real brave of you, you know, sticking up for me. On the very occasional times when he is drunk, he can be a little scary and demanding. Other than that, though, he's a very sweet and caring guy. I think you'd like him if you got to know him a bit more."

A part of me wished I could believe him, but my primitive mind knew that Rory Storm was a very dangerous man and that my mate ought to get away from his clutches _immediately_.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" I asked him. He thought for a minute, then nodded.

"Sure." We went to where Rory was lying on the floor before Ringo picked him up and dragged him along with us. We talked once again about our bands, our hobbies and interests, and the night sky.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he sighed dreamily.

"It sure is," I agreed. **But not as beautiful as the man walking next to me,** I thought in vain. After all, he would never love me back. He had a boyfriend to worry about, regardless of how much of a bastard he was. I realized I just met him earlier that night, but that didn't stop my admiration for him from growing like a vine.

Once we got to his apartment building, which was not very far from mine, we stopped for a minute and looked at each other fondly. I was the first one to speak.

"Well...goodbye, Ringo!" I told him, grinning like an idiot. He laughed.

"Farewell, George!" He was about to walk inside his apartment when he walked back towards me.

"Rings? What are you-" He grabbed me by the shoulder, turned me around, and gave me a short peck on the cheek.

"I really like you, George. It's just that I can't leave Rory. I'll see you some other time, though!" he said, before he rushed inside. I felt the warm spot on my right cheek where he kissed me in wonder. Did he know...? When could I see him again? ...Did he like me back? Questions swarmed around my brain as if they were bees swarming around their nest.

I returned home and found John and Paul joking around, Pete sauntering around the house like the creep he was, and Brian on the telephone trying to book our next gig. I went to bed, though I could not sleep. I sure hoped Ringo would be okay all alone with that drunken arse. I swore to myself that if he ever laid a hand on my pal ever again, I would make that guy wish he were never even born. After all, abusive relationships were no laughing matter.


	4. Help Is on the Way

A/N: So in this chapter, the point of view will center around both George and Ringo. By the way, if I don't respond to any e-mails, it's because I don't really know how to. I'm not the biggest expert on computers. Thank you for your comments, though! Also, there is more violence (sorry!). Prepare yourself: more drama ahead.

(Ringo P.O.V.)

**_Why?_** That word echoed in me mind as he slapped me face once again and threw me body against the wall. **Why is he hurting me? What have I done wrong ****_this_**** time? **

Rory was hurting me in every way possible, grabbing at me, throwing things at me, and venting every bit of his drunken rage on me. Me hands were bloodied from when he threw me favorite vase at me, but I covered my eyes with them anyways. I lay on the floor like the pathetic sod I was, tears streaming out of me eyes in small little rivulets. I wished me pal George were there to comfort me, but I was all alone. Nobody came to me rescue and Rory continued to beat me.

I knew that George had a crush on me ever since he first laid eyes on me that evening and glared at Rory in an obvious fashion. And yes, I admit, I kind of liked him too, but you know...Rory...you get the deal. Even as I lay on the floor, my body quaking and my sobs openly increasing, I still loved my dearest Rory. But...did I _really_?

Could George have been right? Was this not normal in couple relationships? _I_ wouldn't have known: Rory was my first love! After all, it wasn't every day that you met a guy in Liverpool who was queer in times like these. Most men were straight or they refused to be open about their sexuality. Besides, Rory was changing. ..._Right_? If he was, it sure was taking him a hell of a long time. How many months ago had he told me that he would never beat me ever again? Was it two? Four? Oh, who am I kidding, it was _eight_!

Eight months ago, he was sobbing and promising he would be the best boyfriend a man could ask for. Now, here he was, shouting that it would hurt me a lot more than it would him. I was interrupted by a sudden thought that made me blood run cold.

What if all of this was _my_ fault?

Was I to blame for Rory's actions? I _must_ have been! After all, Rory was a complete angel who would never do me wrong when he was not like this. I, on the other hand, screwed up everything. I mean, me voice was terrible, I hated the way I looked, I was always getting sick, and I just about annoyed everybody I bloody talked to. I'll bet even _George_ was annoyed by something about me. A lump formed in my throat. It was definitely me fault and there was nothing I could do about it.

"S-S-Stay a-away f-f-from t-that w-w-w-wanker, d-do y-y-you h-h-hear m-me?! C-C-Call h-him t-t-tomorrow a-a-a-and t-tell h-him t-t-to b-b-bug o-off!" Rory screeched at the top of his lungs. He pummeled me several times and threw a shoe at me.

"Stop! Hurts!" I begged weakly, feeling too flimsy to run away. I sobbed on the ground, me voice growing hoarse and me body curling into itself like a ball. Even though I knew I probably deserved what I was getting, I cried out the name of the only genuine friend I had in this cruel, cruel world. "George! Where are you?! Please help me, I need you!" Me entire vision went black.

(George P.O.V.)

I got up that morning, got a cuppa, and went to band practice. As usual, Pete didn't show up that morning because he was just that much more special than us. Yeah right, I thought, rolling my eyes. I strummed a few chords on my guitar before the phone rang. Brian picked it up.

"Hello?" he greeted with that posh accent of his. He looked over at me. "Oh, I see. Uh-huh. Here, I'll go get him for you." He held his hand over the mouth piece and called, "George, telephone!"

"Who is it?" I inquired curiously.

"It's your friend from last night. He has to tell you something. He claims it's urgent," Brian answered.

"Ringo?" I said, suddenly sprinting from my chair and making a bee-line for the phone. The manager nodded Zander handed the phone to me. "Hello?" I greeted eagerly.

"Hi, George," Ringo replied, though not as excitedly. He sounded so sad.

"Woah, what's wrong?" I asked caringly. A sad Ringo was never a good thing.

"I'm just calling to say that you...you can't hang out with me anymore," he answered hesitantly, trying to sound firm at the same time. I was completely shocked by that news.

"What? W-Why not?" I inquired bewilderedly. Did I say something yesterday evening that bothered him? What was going on at the other end of the line?

"Well, quite simply, it's because I don't like you anymore," he said, his voice starting to choke up. Tears stung my eyes. Why was my best mate doing this to me?!

Guy

"Wait! Was it something I'd said or done? Whatever it is, I'm sorry I-"

"George, please! Sod off! Don't you get it?! No means no! It's time you grew up and realized that! Just...get out of my life! Goodbye!" Ringo screamed hysterically, before slamming the phone down. At that moment, I ran to my room, threw myself upon my bed, and sobbed my heart out. I cried because I lost my best friend, I didn't understand why, the things he said really hurt, and I was head-over-heels for him. Those kinds of problems were _not_ ones you could solve with a ciggie or some drinks.

After a long while, my crying receded to hiccups and shaking. It was at that moment when I realized that Ringo couldn't _possibly_ have decided on his own to end our friendship. Not when he told me last night that he liked me. Plus, he was crying over the telephone, as if he didn't really want to be telling me those things. Anybody could assume that he was just frustrated with my perseverance; I just happened to know for sure that he wasn't that kind of guy. It sounded as though he were being...forced.

I rushed to the telephone even though John was on it and talking to his wife. I took it out of his hand, said "Sorry, Cynthia," and hung it up. Then I began to dial Ringo's number.

" 'Ey, George, what the 'ell?! I was _using_ that, you little bugger!" John growled.

"Not now, you bastard! This is an _emergency_!" I back-lashed. His eyes expanded. Clearly, he hadn't expected me to revile back. The phone rang once I finished dialing. I wasn't looking for Ringo. This time, I was looking for that git boyfriend of his.

"H-H-Hello?" a familiar and hateful voice greeted.

"Hello, _Rory_!" I snarled. Rory growled, recognizing my voice immediately.

"G-Go away, r-r-runt! C-Can't y-you s-s-see th-that R-R-R-Ritchie d-doesn't l-l-like y-you a-a-anymore?!" he demanded. I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, _really?_! Since _when_?!" I inquired, my voice slowly beginning to rise in volume.

"A-Actually, h-h-he l-l-liked you y-yesterday. B-B-But th-then l-l-last n-n-n-night w-we t-t-talked it o-out a-a-and a-agreed th-that y-y-your f-f-friendship w-wasn't w-w-w-worth a-anything," he told me. There was something about the way he said "talked it out" that made the hairs on my neck and back bristle. It was very suggestive and apprehendable. Something was very fishy around here, and it wasn't my Jaws impression.

Suddenly, realization dawned upon me like an African sunset. My eyes became overcast with thunder clouds of hatred. ..._Rory_! _He_ was behind all this hullabaloo! He forced Ringo to break off his friendship with me somehow! I must have gasped when I found out, because Rory cackled maniacally.

"_You_! _You_ did this!" I cried out. I could feel him smiling dirtily on the other side of the line.

"T-Technically, y-y-yes, I c-c-came u-up w-w-w-with th-the i-i-idea," he offered mischievously, making my blood run cold.

"What the bloody hell did you _do_ to him?!" I screamed, shaking the phone like a mad man. John, Paul, and Brian gathered around, wanting to know why I was so distressed. I ignored them and Rory answered,

"Oh, i-it's n-n-nothing _I_ c-could d-d-describe." At that, I became the same beast that had haunted the cavern the night before. I grabbed the phone with a newfound grip.

"Listen, you bastard! You'd better hold onto your arse because when I get there, I'm going to kick you into next blooming _week_! I will find you and you will lose that boy! I _promise_ it! This has gone on far enough, and I can't continue to allow you to abuse him! You'd better not have harmed a single hair on his _head_, or I swear to Stu's grave you're a dead man!" I threatened, before thrusting the phone back onto its holder aggressively. The three men stared wide-eyed at me.

"_Geez_, George! Did that guy steal your sandwich or something?" asked Paul. I shook my head.

"No, he hurt my friend. Now I must help him," I explained hurriedly before giving the phone back to John and rushing out of the apartment.

(Ringo P.O.V.)

I hated meself for succumbing to the peer pressure that Rory bestowed upon me shoulders. George was me best friend and I let him down. Gradually, the beatings grew worse and worse through the day. Once again, I was too weak to fight against it and once again, I was all alone. I continued to remind meself that I was the cause of all this bloodshed. It was the fault of me and me foolish self. **You stupid boy, ****_now_**** look what you've done,** I thought. **You went and ruined ****_everything_****!**


	5. Rescuing Ringo

A/N: Hooray! George to the rescue! So, I'm starting to wrap up this story, just thought I'd let you know. There will hopefully be less violence, but I might have to describe some of the injuries. Again, I apologize for those of you who are not big fans of abuse in stories. But for those of you who like this story, thank you for reading and enjoy!

(George P.O.V.)

The wind screeched in my ears as I made my way to Ringo's place, hoping, needing, and wanting him to be okay. If I left him alone with Rory for too long...**No,** I decided, gulping dry-heave down my throat, **I won't think about that just yet.** I arrived at his apartment and heard screams coming from indoors. I saw the silhouette of a man slapping another man. I assumed the man being slapped was Ringo.

"Th-That'll t-t-teach y-you t-t-to s-stay a-a-away f-f-f-from h-h-him! I-I've f-f-finally b-b-b-broken you!" Rory shouted, as Ringo whimpered in pain. I never felt as though I could kill a man using my bare hands in all my life. ...Except for that moment.

I rushed inside the apartment, went up the stairs, and threw myself against the door.

"Rory! Rory, open the door!" I shouted. Rory chuckled snottily, as he always did whenever I was in a terrible mood.

"W-W-Why sh-should I l-l-let y-_you_ in? Th-_This_ i-i-isn't y-y-y-your home!" he sneered. I groaned. **God, what a smart-mouth!**

"You mark my words, Storm! I'll tell the whole world that you didn't let me in because you were too much of a poofer to kick my arse properly! It won't even matter if you kill me in my sleep because I have three other friends that you don't know about who will willingly do the rest of the work for me! Then everybody will know not only that, but also that you abused one of the greatest drummers in the world! Now open the damned door!" I bellowed frustratedly.

There was silence on the other side. For once in his life, Rory Storm was thinking and/or using his brain. I continued to throw my body against the door like a human battering-ram. Finally, he opened the door and I fell front-first onto the ground. The very first thing I did was search for my friend. Rory followed behind me. I took one look at the lump on the ground before gasping in horror.

There was Ringo, badly beaten-up. His hair hung haphazardly about his face. He had cuts and scratches all along his forehead and temples, colored a deep violet-red. His cheeks and lips were badly swollen and he had a black eye more severe than mine. He had cuts and bruises all along his neck, arms, and pretty much everywhere else I could see.

"Did he _do_ this to you?" I asked gently. In reply, he began to cry silently, squeezing his eyes shut and tears of blood streaming down his angelic face. I turned to Rory.

"How could you _do_ this?! I told you not to harm a single hair on his _head_!" I shouted furiously, my tears threatening to spill out.

"Oh, b-b-but I d-_didn't_! S-S-_See_?!" Rory replied, holding up a strand of Ringo's hair. "O-O-One h-hair, c-c-completely u-unharmed! Th-Th-Then I w-was a-a-a-able t-to h-h-harm th-the r-r-r-_rest_ o-of th-the b-b-body!" I felt as if I were going to be sick. Rory was one of the reasons I nearly became misanthropic.

"Alright, Rory! Enough with the friendly conversation! Now it's time to get _serious_! I challenge you to a duel! A _music_ duel! Whoever sings this song the best gets that boy over there and has him in his band!" I declared.

"A-And w-w-what a-about th-th-th-the l-l-_loser_?!" Rory inquired nosily. I had to be clever on _this_ one, or the deal would turn sour and karma would bestow itself upon me. I thought for a minute before answering,

"The loser has to bug out of his life forever and get rid of all forms of contact with him. Also, the loser must quit out of the band he is playing in and go home to Liverpool!" Rory nodded, accepting the deal except for one last question.

"Wh-Who w-w-will b-be th-th-the j-j-judge o-of th-this m-m-m-music d-d-duel?" he asked. I pointed at Ringo, the "boy" I was referring to. Rory smirked cheekily. "Th-Th-This'll b-be t-t-too e-_easy_!" he sneered overconfidently. He got out his microphone and I got out my Gretsch guitar.

"Wish me luck," I whispered to it before kissing the guitar neck. We set up a stage on a wooden platform and beer crates as its foundation. We decided together to sing an Elvis Presley song called "Jailhouse Rock". After all, the King _had_ helped to inspire us both to get a career in music. We stood up and got in each other's faces and gave each other a rather verbal pep-talk.

"Y-Y-You s-sing l-l-like m-m-m-my g-_grandmother_!" Rory spat.

"You _look_ like my grandmother! By the way, nice pantyhose!" I hissed.

"Y-Y-You'll h-have t-t-to b-b-buy m-me a c-c-c-coffin s-since y-you j-j-just b-bored m-me to d-d-death!"

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry, I completely forgot that it was 'Bring Your Pet Gorilla To Work Today' day! Is your _master_ home?" Rory completely ran out of things to say after I laid that one down on the table. So, he brought out his last attempt to save his masculinity and made a rude finger gesture at me.

"S-S-S-Screw you!" he shouted. I simply winked and waved flirtatiously at him.

"Maybe later," I replied in a mockingly-sweet tone. He stared at me, his jaw momentarily catching flies. I went over the list in my head. **Hmm...'Catch Rory off-guard and beat him in a trash-talking session'. ...Check!** By lowering his defense, I would be able to attack the enemy. It was an age-old trick I learned from John: he was becoming a bit of a bad influence on me.

We stood on stage, our "weapons" in hand. Then the song began and we sang,

"The warden threw a party in the county jail,

The prison band was there and they began to wail!

The band was jumpin' and the joint began to swing,

You should've heard them knocked-out jailbirds sing!

Let's rock; everybody, let's rock!

Everybody in the whole cell block

Was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock!"

We stared intensely at each other. I played some wild chords on my guitar and Rory sang overzealously to compete with my mad skills. The both of us were sweating up a storm.

"Spider Murphy played the tenor saxophone,

Little Joe was blowin' on the slide trombone!

The drummer boy from Illinois went crash, boom, bang,

The whole rhythm section was the purple gang!

Let's rock; everybody, let's rock!

Everybody in the whole cell block

Was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock!"

We jumped up and down on the stage like wallabies, for we were so caught up in the moment. Little did we know that due to our weight and the pressure we were applying, the stage had a bit of a crack in it and was starting to collapse.

"Number forty-seven said to number three,

'You're the cutest jailbird I ever did see'!

I sure would be delighted with your company,

Come on and do the Jailhouse Rock with me!

Let's rock; everybody, let's rock!

Everybody in the whole cell block

Was dancin' to the Jailhouse Rock!"

We finished singing and turned to Ringo. He had to decide who the winner was, so he began to think. Rory spoke up.

"If you don't pick me, I'll hit you harder than I did last time and I'll kill both you _and_ your precious friend!" Ringo's eyes widened and he began to point at Rory. I gasped in fear and glowered at Rory when all of a sudden, Ringo stomped his foot.

"_No_!" he wheezed. The poor lad could barely speak from all of the crying and screaming he had done. He pointed at me instead. My heart was so overwhelmed with relief that I felt like crying. I held out my arms and Ringo ran into them, giving me a big hug. Rory was _beyond_ furious.

"R-R-Richard! I'm w-w-warning you! Y-You're m-m-making a b-big m-m-mistake!" he yelled. Ringo frowned upon him and stood as tall as his stout body would allow him.

"No, Rory! I don't think I _am_! I'm sorry, but you don't have a say in me life anymore!" he proclaimed.

"_Oh_?! A-And w-w-what d-d-d-do you m-m-mean b-by th-th-_that_?!" Rory demanded, though he probably knew the answer already.

"I mean that I'm breaking up with you, you clot! Don't play naïve with me! We both knew this day was coming ever since you didn't fulfill your promise! Besides, I met a guy! And he's standing right next to me!" Ringo shouted, tears flowing down his face in rivulets. He held my hand and our fingers intertwined.

Rory's face resembled blistering fury. He stomped on the stage with the force of ten men. However, since there was a crack in it, it snapped loudly and formed a V-shape around him. Next thing we knew, he fell into the hole. He sat and sulked, drowning in his own pity out of vain.

"Th-This i-i-isn't f-f-_fair_!" he shouted angrily.

"_All_ is fair in _war_, my friend," a voice behind him said out of the blue.

"_Huh_?"

THWACK! An umbrella hit Rory upside the head and the person revealed himself. He smiled at Ringo and I, and I smiled back.

"Hello, Brian!" I greeted. Brian smiled and waved before he pasted his serious face back on.

"I'll call the police. You make sure your friend is okay," he said. John and Paul arrived to witness the event shortly after. I turned to Ringo.

"What changed your mind?" I asked him, referring to the choice between Rory and me. He laughed before answering,

"I found out why Rory had been beating me. It wasn't just because he was drunk or jealous. It was because he was angry with what happened in the past. He used to be bullied, so he beat me to show his male dominance. He told me while he was beating me today. He was quite the chauvinist, that one. And besides, I like you and I meant everything I said." I smiled down at him before bending my knees to kiss his cheek.

"What was _that_ for?" he asked, laughing.

"Oh, nothing. Just returning the favor from last night," I answered, giggling.

"Well, thanks, but _that's_ not me lips," Ringo said. Before I could fully comprehend what he said, he placed his hands on my cheeks, stood on tip-toe and kissed me tenderly on the lips.

"_These_ are," he told me bashfully, his face flushed a deep red like a rose. I stood there, my mouth slightly open and my eyelashes batting. Then I leaned forward and puckered my lips when-

"Hey! Lookit the little love birds over there, eh, Paulie?" John teased, as he skipped over to us hand-in-hand with Paul.

"_You're_ one to talk, Mr. I-like-to-skip!" Ringo back-sassed. I chuckled as the faces of the two men turned red. Then he turned to me.

"George Harrison...will you go out with me?" he asked, kneeling on the ground before me as if he were proposing (didn't _I_ wish). I gave him another fanged smile of mine.

"Sure. On one condition."

"_Anything_."

"Join our band." Ringo looked a little confused.

"_Huh_? But I thought you already _had_ a drummer," he said. I chuckled and shook my head at his adorableness. I looked to my other band members.

"_That_ can be arranged," I replied thoughtfully. After putting up with a huge tantrum and getting cologne thrown at me, we were able to fire Pete Best and hire Ringo Starr.


	6. Epilogue: Midnight Starrison

A/N: So, this is the last chapter of my story. I decided that since it was basically an epilogue, we would fast-forward a few months and this would be in third-person point of view. Obviously, I didn't come up with all this. I was inspired by "You're Going to Lose That Girl" by the Beatles and I looked up a few events that happened when the Beatles were in Hamburg. I like to research even when I write fictional stories because I'm a nerd. :-) I also thought it was hilarious when Ringo criticized Pete's drumming because he is a "drummer connoisseur". Alright, enough from me. Enjoy!

(Third-Person P.O.V.)

"_No_! No Rory, _stop_! Stop _beating_ me!"

"I'll n-n-never f-forgive y-y-you f-f-for b-breaking m-m-my h-heart, R-R-_Richard_!" Rory shouted, as he pummeled Ringo and threw him against the wall of the dark alley.

"Rory?! Rory, what the hell are you _doing_?! GET THAT BLOODY KNIFE _AWAY_ FROM ME!" Ringo screamed, his blue eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

"Oh, d-d-_don't_ w-worry! Th-This w-w-won't h-hurt a b-b-b-_bit_, m-my l-l-love," Rory sneered, drawing closer with cleaver in hand. Ringo's breathing became heavy and he could not escape.

"George!" he cried, suddenly sitting up from his bed. It had all just been a nightmare. He tried to calm down: he wasn't in a dark alley where nobody could save him. He was in a double bed with a gentle boyfriend who loved him, protected him, and never laid a hand on him. He turned on the nearest lamp and saw that his boyfriend was awake.

George looked into his eyes. His hair hung messily in front of his face and his brown eyes had emotions of exhaustion and deep love while he was looking at his romantic partner. He chewed his lip worriedly. Then he held out his arms and Ringo fell into them, snuggling his love. The younger boy placed his chin on top of the drummer's head.

"Let me guess...Rory again?" George chuckled softly, whispering into Ringo's hair and stroking it. Ringo nodded.

"You totally _get_ me," he sighed, ceasing his shivers and laying motionlessly in his warm embrace.

"Do you need anything? Like, a glass of water, a snack, a-"

"Oh, no thank you, George. It was just another stupid nightmare, that's all," Ringo mumbled against his chest. George laughed.

"Well, suit yourself. I'm _always_ hungry at this hour." He got up and retrieved something from the cabinet nearby. Then he brought it back to bed with him. It was a cheese platter with crackers on it. Ringo's eyes widened in realization and a smile appeared on his face.

"Is that _cheddar_?" he inquired, pointing at one of the slices of cheese. George nodded in reply and picked one up. He held up Ringo's chin with one hand and brought the cheese to his mouth with the other hand.

"I _thought_ you might change your mind. Open up," he commanded playfully. Ringo opened his mouth and George placed the cheese in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. For a while, they were like that. George fed Ringo slices of cheddar cheese and crackers and allowed Ringo to feed him a few times. George laughed.

"What's so funny?" asked Ringo. The drummer took a moment to listen to George's _gorgeous_ laugh (A/N: seriously: cutest laugh _ever_) before allowing him to answer.

"Well, I'm like an old lady and you're like some bird at the park - pft! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" George was laughing so hard, he had tears in his eyes. Ringo chuckled as well, rubbing his partner's back.

"Woah, there! Take it _easy_, love! I get that I'm _hilarious_, but-" George cut him off by kissing him on the lips in-between muffled they pulled apart, things became a bit more serious again. They finished snacking on cheese and crackers and George laid his hand on top of Ringo's.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently, referring to his boyfriend's nightmare. Ringo thought for a minute before nodding. The dream may have been scary, but it would be good to get it off his chest.

"Alright." He laid his head on George's shoulder and George wrapped an affectionate arm around his frame. This way, Ringo could explain more calmly. "So, I was walking down Reeperbahn St. on me own. _Normally_ you would be with me, but in _this_ dream you weren't. I guess you were getting groceries or something. You _do_ love food."

He paused to let George chuckle and kiss him on the nose before he continued.

"Anyways, everything was all..._grey_. The whole city lost its spark and it was just colorless all around. Then, suddenly, Rory came out of nowhere and attacked me. You know, he escaped from jail, like he _usually_ does in me dreams. He dragged me to this dark alley and beat me up. I got some serious bruises and cuts from that. I tried to run away and get him to stop, but he kept beating me up. Suddenly, he took out this knife and threatened me with it - "

"Was it a _Scottie_ knife?" George queried, fear in his voice. Ringo shook his head.

"No. It was a cleaver. He, um...where was I? Oh, right! He took out his knife and threatened me with it and I asked him not-so-calmly what he was going to do to me with that knife. He said that it wouldn't hurt a bit and he advanced closer to me. There were walls closed in on each side, he raised it in the air and prepared to strike, I called your name, and - oh God, George, I was so scared!"

George pulled Ringo closer to him so that his head was resting on his heart.

"Don't worry, baby. Rory isn't escaping from that German jail anytime soon. And if he does, I'll kick his arse," he promised with fierce loyalty. Ringo laughed and placed a hand on his chest.

"I know you will," he whispered sleepily. George looked down and chuckled.

"Aw, is widdle baby Wingo tiyud?" he teased, only getting away with it because he had the not-quite-precise title of "quiet Beatle".

"Cheeky," Ringo muttered, only pretending to be annoyed. Then he answered for real. "Yes, but George, what about me nightmares?" George pondered over his options for a minute. Then -

"Well, I guess we'll have to stop them from coming, eh? Here," He laid down so that he was comfortable. Then he signaled for Ringo to lay his head on his chest. George wrapped an arm around his back while Ringo rested his forearm on George's chest. Finally, George lifted the blankets up around them so that they were snug like Beatle-bugs.

"Good night, Ritchie," he whispered quietly.

"Good night, Geo," was Ringo's reply. George kissed the top of his head and Ringo made a kissy-noise in response. Then, the drummer turned off the light. After that midnight, Ringo no longer had any bad dreams that had to do with Rory. Instead, he had ones that had to do with laughing and running hand-in-hand with George through a field of flowers. After all, what was in the past would forever remain in the past. At least now he had a boyfriend who took him out and treated him right. He was so glad he had been taken away from his ex-boyfriend.

THE END

A/N: Oh my God, guys, they're so freaking cute together! I can barely even breathe right now! Thank you for reading, everybody! I appreciate your reviews!

- Little Miss Beatlemaniac.


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